Cleansing of Wounds
by SunMooku
Summary: ONE-SHOT. With the war over, Aizen and Yhwach no longer being a constant threat, Ichigo can finally settle down and become the doctor of the Kurosaki Clinic. Not only is he able to settle down, but Grimmjow is also able to simply hang around and demand a fight from Ichigo whenever he wants. Ichigo as a doctor, however, means that he can get his injuries treated by Ichigo as well.


**THERE WAS NO DENYING **that Grimmjow, despite his admiring swordsman skills, could be a complete dumbass sometimes. Here Ichigo had been enjoying an uneventful day attending to a handful of patients at the Kurosaki clinic when _he _had barged in unwelcomed. Okay, perhaps 'unwelcomed' wasn't the appropriate word for a **public **clinic. Still, Grimmjow's presence couldn't have been more announced than the violent slam of the clinic's door.

"One second…" Ichigo muttered, his chocolate orbs not once straying away from his current task. He slowly pulled on the needle, the stitches securing the harmless slash on his patient's arm. He cut the excess thread and leaned back to admire his handiwork. "All done, Nagata-san."

Nagata, a local senior man, looked at his arm and gave the softest of smiles. "Oh, thank you, thank you," He bowed several times, each which was met with Ichigo bowing as well. Even though he had taken over the clinic and had become the doctor, he wasn't used to the civil side of it. He had been the 'hero' for so long, he had forgotten what it was like to simply help without pulling out his zanpakutō or his Bankai. There had always been danger wherever they went.

"_Speaking of danger…" _Ichigo glanced towards the waiting room, noting that the only patient left to attend to was Grimmjow. He couldn't be sure whether it was a coincidence that each time the ex-Espada arrived for his assistance it was always when the clinic was soon to close. _"Assistance. Now __**that's**__ rich. He never 'asks' for help, I doubt it even exists in his vocabulary."_

After Ichigo gently helped Nagata exit the clinic and meet with his children, he took a moment to inhale the much-needed fresh air. It wasn't that he was exhausted, oh no, it was because he was in for a **HELL** of a time. He took a few steps back and shut the door, his hand turning the sign from [open] to [close]. He turned away, his legs doing longer strides than necessary to hastily pass by his seemingly peaceful patient.

As he rushed by, his body had been alerted and ready for what would occur next. Ichigo immediately ducked, a fist flying just a few inches above from his head. The opening gave him a chance to aim a kick at his assailant, one which was easily predicted by the ex-Espada. Ichigo felt the sudden yank to his ankle, causing his balance to stumble the slightest.

"You think a kick like _that _can get to me?" Grimmjow nearly snarled, his hand immediately forming another fist that was aimed towards Ichigo's jaw. The orange-haired male, however, knew that by underestimating his opponent's skills it would enrage him.

"No, but I knew _this_ would!" Ichigo dodged the fist just barely, his hands immediately shooting up to grasp Grimmjow's wrist. He turned his back to him, his hands yanking Grimmjow forward. Grimmjow's chest predictably collided with his back. As he pulled him forward, Ichigo ducked, causing Grimmjow's body to fall face first on the polished floor. The small grunt that escaped the ex-Espada was enough satisfaction to Ichigo to count it as a win.

"Had enough or will we have to make new injuries that _**I'll **_have to attend to?" Ichigo huffed as he took off his dreaded lab coat. He didn't know just who had thought that wearing a **white **coat, in an environment that involved blood, would be a great idea for a doctor to wear.

Grimmjow slowly stood, his eyebrows furrowed in anger at the fact that he had been bested, not once, but _**each time**_ he had confronted the male for a fight. On this day, however, he decided not to push his luck with the very moron who had managed to defeat Aizen and the Quincy shitlord. He could always try again tomorrow, just as he had promised.

"Does it look like I care what you have to do?" Grimmjow grumbled, his hands immediately resting on the pocket of his jeans. "For the record, I'm not looking for a fight with each imbecile I see on the streets." The male muttered as he followed the Shinigami, his anger subsiding quite quickly over the fact that Kurosaki would always give him more chances for a real fight.

"It's the hair," Ichigo commented as he walked towards the sink, immediately working on cleaning his hands as he had always done after tending to his patients. Grimmjow took his seat where Nagata had been, his gaze curiously taking on the kind of instruments that the Shinigami seemed to use regularly.

"The what?" Grimmjow gave him that look that screamed, [that's the dumbest shit I've ever heard of considering you have a lot of other dumb shit that you have said]. The look was given daily, therefore, Ichigo had had to think of a name for it.

"The _hair,_" The male stressed the word as he wiped his hands over a clean cloth, his fingers flexing slightly to prepare them for the surgical gloves. "I had the same problem back in my student years. They thought I was being cocky for looking like an orange," He flexed his fingers inside the gloves, adjusting them for flexibility.

"Because you are," Grimmjow commented, his expression all but bored with the conversation. "It's the eyes—"

"You hate my eyes, yes, I know," He rolled his eyes as he grabbed the tray that carried all necessary instruments to inspect the wound. It was strange to see the ex-Espada without the skull that once decorated the side of his face. It did, however, made him seem more human and not psychotic. "Hold still while I do my job," Ichigo pulled a chair closer to the other as he settled himself on it. His gaze surveyed the wound carefully, leaning in the slightest.

After a moment of inspection, he lifted a cloth with disinfectant and gently dabbed at the wound. It seemed that Grimmjow was beginning to make more enemies around the block. He was sure that the cut was made by a blade. Of course, he knew that Grimmjow's pride wouldn't allow him to reveal that specific point. As he had once vocalized, he didn't need his 'pity.' As he continued to contemplate those memories, he noticed the slightest of change in his posture. "Don't."

Grimmjow feigned innocence as his shoulder, ever so slightly, settled back down. "What?"

"I know what you're thinking of doing. Don't."

"How would you know what I'm thinking?"

"You _punched _me when I was doing this exact thing yesterday and claimed it as a win."

"It was."

"Alright, you know what? Bite me."


End file.
